


what the weather will be

by MarauderCracker



Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Black Character(s), Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 02:29:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12902016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarauderCracker/pseuds/MarauderCracker
Summary: Shadow was never one to mope over his dad’s absence, mostly because he’s never --not once in his nine years on Earth!-- felt like there’s anything missing from his life.





	what the weather will be

**Author's Note:**

> This is a cross between book canon (Shadow's childhood) and show canon (Shadow and his mom being Black). Shadow's mom has no explicit name in this story. If you need visual aid, I imagined Shadow's mom as Yolonda Ross and Franz Drameh as a younger Shadow.

 

Shadow was never one to mope over his dad’s absence, mostly because he’s never --not once in his nine years on Earth!-- felt like there’s anything missing from his life. He loves the stories that his momma tells him about a charming man that swept her off her feet when she was traveling Europe, but Shadow much prefers when she invents fairytales about wandering princesses who fall in love with Gods and are blessed with magical sons. Plus, all the children in books have at least one parent who’s dead, missing or traveling the world; and Shadow likes to imagine that his own magical adventure will begin any day now.

Mom’s bright white teeth shine like stars when she laughs. She says, “oh, you have the same spark in your eyes, baby,” while her fingers separate Shadow’s tight curls. She gets wistful when she thinks of Shadow’s dad, always seems to be looking at something that Shadow cannot yet see. “He always seemed to be laughing at a joke that only he understood,” mom sighs, smiling down at him. She keeps carefully brushing Shadow’s hair, undoing knots with delicate fingers before softly pushing the brush through the kinks.

Shadow knows that not having a dad is _weird_ because the kids at school mock him about it, like they mock him about his good grades and how much shorter than them he is. He doesn’t really care, even though he’d like to be left alone. He’s more than happy with mom’s bright eyes and gentle hands and her proud smile whenever he brings home a particularly good grade. And he knows that none of the other kids’ moms can tell stories as good as the ones Shadow’s momma tells.

“Tell me a story about dad,” Shadow asks, and mom sits next to him on his bed and tells him about a magical man, half romantic movie protagonist and half deity, who could make the rain dance and always found the most fragrant of flowers for her.

 

* * *

 

For his tenth birthday, mom gets him over a dozen books. Shadow is bright enough to know that she must have saved for a very long time. He'd asked, once, about those Lord Of The Rings books with the hard covers, and the old man at the bookstore told him to come back when his piggy bank was full. Shadow promises himself that, for mom's birthday, he'll get her the best gift of all. Maybe that silver necklace with the red stone that she always stops to look at when they're out shopping, Shadow thinks.

When Shadow informs his momma that the ravens are his friends, she laughs and taps the tip of his nose with her index. “Of course they are, baby,” she says, “because you're kind to them.” She's right, because mom always is. Shadow read in a book from the school library that ravens like shiny objects, and they even recognize people's faces and can remember who's been nice or mean to them. He leaves them cookies out of his window and carefully pets their tiny heads when they let him, so the ravens always bring him the curious objects they find.

It feels like, after he decides to start saving for mom's necklace, the ravens bring him more coins than ever.

 

* * *

 

Shadow likes the stories about his dad, and the tales his momma makes up, but his favorite are the stories about mom. Shadow loves her more than anything else in this world; loves her laughter and her kindness and how she never treats him like he's too small or too fragile for anything, how she never tells him things like “I'll tell you when you're older” or makes up lies to avoid explaining things to him.

Instead she tells him about the week she spent in Venice, the first time she went camping with her dad, how she got arrested for protesting during college, the time she met Jimi Hendrix (Shadow never considers that one might be a lie), how she left a man at the altar when she was twenty. When he grows up, he's gonna ask mom to tell him all of her adventures and write a book about them, Shadow decides.

 

* * *

 

That year, during the Winter break, mom decides that, since Shadow's teachers won't actually do anything to stop the kids who mock Shadow and push him around, he should learn to defend himself.

“You never throw the first punch, baby, you hear me?” she says, crouching in front of Shadow so he can look him in the eye. “But none of that ‘turn the other cheek’ shit--” she covers her mouth when she catches the bad word, and Shadow laughs. “What I'm saying,” mom continues, and Shadow stops laughing and does his best to seem serious. “You gotta defend yourself, okay?”

“Yes, momma,” Shadow agrees, nodding emphatically. He's confident that, if mom says it's the right thing to do, it must be. His momma is never wrong.

She teaches him how to cover his face with his forearms while keeping his elbows low to protect the softest parts of his belly; reminds him to keep his chin tucked in close to his chest and shows him how to properly make a fist. “And when you extend your arm, you have to lock your elbow,” she instructs, and they repeat the motion a dozen times.

Shadow's a scrawny little thing, but mom promises that size doesn't matter as long as he stays light on his feet.

 

* * *

 

The week before mom's birthday, Shadow counts the pennies in his piggy bank. He's still twenty whole dollars short, and no amount of coins the ravens could find will make up for the difference.

The clerk at the jewelry shop is an old white man with a blind eye and a kind smile, and he vaguely reminds Shadow of an employee at the local bookstore. The man shows Shadow all kinds of pretty necklaces, bracelets and earrings that Shadow's savings can afford, but none of them are as beautiful as the one mom likes. Shadow has to make an effort to keep from crying. He thanks the clerk with a trembling voice (mom taught him to always say thanks) and makes his way back home slowly, eyes trained on his shoes, half hoping that luck will smile down on him and he'll find a twenty on the sidewalk. (He doesn't.)

Billy (that's the name Shadow chose for his favorite raven) shows up at Shadow's windowsill the next morning, carrying something shiny in his beak. He stands on the wooden frame and impatiently waits until Shadow finally notices him. He jumps off the bed and runs to the bird's side, excited to brush its smooth feathers. The way the sun reflects off the object hanging from Billy's beak catches Shadow's eye.

It's not a coin, a lost earring, a button or a metallic candy wrapper. It's a silver chain, scarlet streaks of light coloring the floor and walls when the sun shines through the red stone at the end.

When Shadow goes to the jewelry shop to return the necklace, the old clerk gives him a pointed look with his one good eye, and smiles. “We’re not missing any necklaces, kid,” he tells Shadow, and gently guides him out of the store. Before he closes the door, Shadow is sure that he hears the man say “Wish your mom a happy birthday for me.”

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, when it rains so hard that it feels like midnight at noon and the sound of the falling water drowns out everything else, Shadow’s mom tells him about the first time she met his dad. There are two stories that she doesn’t tell often, precious gems that Shadow knows to appreciate due to their rarity and sheer beauty. The other one (the one where he kisses her outside the airport and she knows with unwavering certainty that a part of her heart will always be with him, on Norway) she will only tell three times in all of Shadow’s lifetime.

Rain is a rarity in their city, but mom says it rains a lot more in Europe. They drink warm cocoa on the sofa, and mom is more than happy to concede when Shadow asks for the story. “It was windy that day, and cold, but it’s always cold in Norway,” she says, and he shudders theatrically. His momma smiles. “The wind kept trying to take my umbrella, so I finally gave in and closed it. I was already soaked, anyway, because the rain came from every side.”

Shadow can picture her perfectly, wet curls framing her face like a dark halo, the red winter coat that she wears only on special occasions dripping wet. And then…

“And then, there he was. Lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and when I looked down from the sky…” She smiles wistfully, eyes drifting towards the curtain of water out the window. “Oh, there was that grin. He was standing under the rain, no umbrella or raincoat on sight. It didn’t seem to bother him at all. And, while everyone else rushed to get away from the water and the wind, we just stood there and smiled at each other.”

Shadow imagines the scene. Colorless people running past, a dimly-lit black-and-white scene where her momma is the only source of color, shining like a star with her warm skin and bright red coat. He pictures the droplets rolling down her face, her dimpled smile. But he can never quite picture dad. In his mind, he’s just a dark silhouette and a crooked grin.

“We walked under the rain for the longest time. He wanted me to tell him of every country I’d visited in my trip, of my plans after college, of growing up here. Anything I had to say seemed to be the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard,” she says. Shadow is only twelve but he knows, because she’s told him, that women like men who know how to listen.

“We walked and walked and walked, and it never stopped raining. After a bit, I didn’t even feel the rain anymore. And, every time, he could tell when the lightning was coming. He’d say, ‘look, lightning,’ and a second later the sky would light up right where he was pointing at.”

 

* * *

 

During the really bad thunderstorms, when the whole building seems to shake and the sky cracks and quakes with lightning, mom stands on the balcony and smiles up at the dark clouds.

One time, when Shadow was still very little, he snuck out behind her, wanting to watch the lightning too. She didn’t see him, and eight-years-old Shadow got a chance to listen as she spoke to the sky. “You can’t imagine how big he’s gotten! And so smart, he already does long divisions with ease, his teacher can’t believe it.”

A little confused, but happy to know that his momma was proud of him, Shadow tip-toed his way back into the apartment and rushed to change out of the wet clothes and into his pajamas.

 

* * *

 

Shadow’s just gotten through the biggest growth spurt of his short life, and suddenly he towers over all of his classmates. Nobody laughs at him anymore. When he turns fourteen, he joins the wrestling team, and mom is as proud of him as ever.

She's saving every penny so he can go to college, but it's not easy to save on her modest teaching salary. Shadow knows that wrestling could mean a scholarship, and then she could use those savings to move somewhere nicer when he leaves home. He focuses on being the best wrestler he can be and keeping his good grades, already envisioning a future that will make his mom even prouder. He'll go to college, and major in English, and then he's gonna be a teacher, just like his momma.

 

* * *

 

The first semester of Shadow's second year of college has just started when mom gets sick. It's quick and devastating, a certain death sentence. When Shadow packs his things, he doesn't leave anything behind. He doesn't vocalize the thought just yet, but he knows he's never setting foot in this dorm again.

“Oh, baby, I'm so proud of you,” she says, bony fingers shakily caressing his face. She smiles, and it's so warm and so genuine, it breaks his heart. “I have led a good life, my Shadow, but you've always been the best part of it.”

Shadow starts crying then, clutching her hand as she fades away in that hospital bed, and he doesn't stop crying until long after she's gone. (He won't cry again until his wife dies, well over a decade from now.)

 

* * *

 

It's a small funeral, and it rains so hard that it feels like the roof of the chapel might just give in. She's buried with the necklace and, at the burial, two coal-black ravens fly circles over her grave.

 


End file.
